Rituals
by Midnight Caller
Summary: Grissom and Sara share an interesting New Year's together...


Rituals By Midnight Caller  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Grissom and Sara share an interesting New Year's Eve together.  
  
Spoilers: Nah, not really.  
  
Notes: Huge thanks to Eolivet, Dev, Meg and Andi, my lovely sounding board people. Your patience & feedback far exceed what I expect, and I'm grateful for that. Happy 2003 to everyone!  
  
  
  
*****  
  
One. Two. Thr--- ah, damn.  
  
One. Two. Three. Fo--- damn.  
  
Sara looked down onto her chest and picked up the piece of popcorn before shoving it into her mouth. She grabbed a few more kernels in her hand and tipped her head back against the sofa. With a quick flick of the wrist, the white, puffy food twirled a few times in the air before landing precisely on her tongue.  
  
One.  
  
She repeated the gesture, again catching it on her tongue. She smiled.  
  
Two.  
  
A third piece was tossed into the air, and just as it landed, the phone rang, startling her. The kernel jumped down her throat and she coughed a few times before getting up to look for the receiver.  
  
After frantically searching the room, she discovered it was shoved between the cushions of the couch, and she fished it out just as it rang for the third time.  
  
"Hello?" she gasped, still recovering from the popcorn.  
  
"Sara?"  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "Grissom?"  
  
"Oh, good, it is you," he replied, and then there was silence.  
  
Sara cleared her throat.  
  
"So, uh... how, uh... how are you?"  
  
"Grissom... please tell me you're not calling me to go into work."  
  
"What? Oh, no, not at all. I... uh... I just wanted to uh... wish you a happy new year..."  
  
She blinked and stared across the room, as if that would somehow enlighten her.  
  
"Oh. Well... thanks. You too."  
  
There was once again silence on the other end, and for a moment she thought he'd hung up until she heard him lightly clear his throat. There was something faint in the background, and she strained to hear it.  
  
"So... what are you up to?" she finally asked, settling back down onto the sofa.  
  
"I'm just watching Dick Clark."  
  
She crunched a few kernels between her teeth. "You're watching a New Year's celebration in another time zone?"  
  
There was a pause before he continued. "It's Dick Clark," he stated, his tone attempting justify the behavior.  
  
"So you're not watching the Vegas countdown? Not going to watch the ball drop over the Stratosphere?"  
  
"Sorry to disappoint you, Sara, but I'm watching Dick Clark. He's a lot quieter than Fairmont Street, and traffic isn't nearly as bad in my living room."  
  
Chuckling slightly, she murmured, "Hmm... I suppose that's one way to look at it." She tossed another few pieces of popcorn into her mouth.  
  
"Why? What are you watching?"  
  
She didn't even hesitate. "Dick Clark."  
  
When he sighed, she smiled, knowing he could sense the smug little smirk she was wearing.  
  
They sat there in silence for a few moments watching the national simulcast, ten minutes from each other's company.  
  
"Hmm, I didn't know that," she finally remarked.  
  
"What?"  
  
"In Britain, it's good luck to have the first visitor of the year be a dark- haired male, and he's supposed to bring coal and bread. Well, so says tradition."  
  
"Huh. Interesting."  
  
"Grissom, aren't you watching this? They just showed a whole graphic on it."  
  
"Oh, I'm in the kitchen getting something to eat."  
  
"Ooh, what's for dinner?"  
  
"It's just a snack. Apples and peanut butter."  
  
She cackled into the phone, startling him. "You're kidding."  
  
"No."  
  
"Grissom, that's such girlie food. Are you pregnant?"  
  
He sighed. "Yes."  
  
"Figures."  
  
There was no response, but she waited for it, knowing he couldn't resist. Eventually, he caved.  
  
"What makes my food girlie? Because I didn't have to kill it before I ate it?"  
  
She raised an eyebrow at the phone, hoping it would somehow traverse the line and appear on the other end. "Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I meant."  
  
Silence took over again, interrupted only by Grissom's occasional munching. He didn't seem to mind just... being on the phone, listening to her breathe, enjoying the odd form of companionship. But as much as the thought of sharing this evening with him in any capacity appealed to her, sitting soundlessly over the phone just drove her insane, and she had to break the silence.  
  
"So... how's your girlie snack?"  
  
He sighed again, but she heard a chuckle in there as well. "Tasty."  
  
"Are you having anything to drink with your effeminate food?"  
  
"Yes, actually, a wonderful Beaujolais."  
  
Temporarily forgetting how weird of an accompaniment that was to apples and peanut butter, she sat up on the sofa, suddenly interested. "French wine? I'm impressed." She heard him take another sip, and imagined his lips on the glass, the liquid sliding across his tongue, swirling around in his mouth.  
  
"Well, it was a gift. I'd almost forgotten about it, and I'm glad I saw it when I did because it's one of those wines that's meant to be drunk fairly young and-"  
  
"A gift? From whom?"  
  
"A friend of mine. A wine collector, of sorts."  
  
She crossed her arms and sat back on the sofa. "Who?"  
  
"Why does it matter?"  
  
She chewed on her tongue, trying not to say the real reason she wanted to know. She could feel his smugness through the telephone line, and it ate away at her gut like a greedy parasite, but she waited. She would not give in.  
  
She could wait.  
  
She had gotten very good at waiting over the years, waiting for certain people to make up their minds about how they felt, and to admit those same feelings to certain other people.  
  
So she could wait.  
  
Nodding, she reassured herself that she could wait. It wasn't from another woman. Well, maybe. Maybe it that Teri person. She gritted her teeth.  
  
She could wait.  
  
She could wait.  
  
She could wai- "Oh, just tell me who it was, Grissom."  
  
There was the smirk again; she could sense it, hovering over her like some heavy, wet blanket of guilt.  
  
When he'd had enough fun, he cleared his throat. "Brass."  
  
"Brass gave you a bottle of something that wasn't made from potatoes or wheat?"  
  
Grissom laughed lightly. "Yes. Actually, he has quite an extensive collection."  
  
"Well... go figure..." Leaning her elbows onto her knees, she brought the phone closer to her lips. "You know... I've never had a Beaujolais before."  
  
"Oh, you should, it's quite possibly one of the best reds I've ever tasted."  
  
Quiet.  
  
Again.  
  
She exhaled, long and slow, letting it out through her nose, and then stared up at the ceiling.  
  
"Grissom..."  
  
"Sara."  
  
"This is stupid."  
  
He swallowed a piece of fruit. "What?"  
  
"We're watching TV over the phone."  
  
She could almost see him sitting there, just blinking, his mind attempting to link the pieces together but failing miserably. "Uh... I..."  
  
"Why are we watching the same thing on TV... over the phone?"  
  
Now she knew he was twisting his mouth around, maybe pushing his glasses further up onto his face. "Um..."  
  
She sighed again. How could such an intelligent person miss a hint like this?  
  
"Do you want me to hang up?" He asked it so innocently, she almost felt sorry for him.  
  
"No, Grissom, don't hang up..." she let out another long breath, and then bit her lip. "Why don't we watch it together?" Before he could possibly misunderstand, she added, "In the same room."  
  
More silence.  
  
"Grissom."  
  
"Yes?" he asked, tentatively.  
  
She raised her voice just slightly. "Come. Over."  
  
"Oh."  
  
He would have to figure out the rest on his own.  
  
Before she hung up, she brought the phone back to her mouth, remembering something. "And bring the wine."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He shut the door and then caught a reflection of himself in the car window. Pausing for a moment, he regarded his image, slowly moving his head side to side, checking for... what was he checking for? Imperfections? Sudden sideburn growth? What?  
  
He smoothed down his hair, and then the front of his shirt, tightly gripping the bottle of wine in his free hand. He smiled into the window. A moment passed. He frowned.  
  
He smiled again, this time showing more teeth. He stuck his tongue out slightly, holding it between his lips, lost in thought. A few seconds later he tried another smile, closed-mouthed this time, his lips firmly pressed together as they spread across his face. He paused again before repeating the full-toothed grin.  
  
He stayed frozen like that, examining himself in the window for a few seconds more. Finally, he nodded to himself. That's the one.  
  
He took one last look, sucked in a breath of air, and then left his image behind.  
  
  
  
  
  
Her door was red. Well, reddish. At one point it might have started out as gray, perhaps even white, because specks of something lighter were poking through the dark coat, but at this point, it was definitely red... ish.  
  
As if he were studying some post-impressionistic painting, he stared harder and harder at the door, the broad strokes of color peeling away like layers of cloth in his mind, going deeper and deeper, perhaps hoping that eventually he'd break through to the other side and he would be able to see her without having to actually knock on the door.  
  
He blinked a few times, trying to regain some sense of awareness, and wondered exactly how long he had been standing there, staring at paint.  
  
Shrugging back his shoulders, he took a bold step forward until his nose was nearly touching the reddish door, and then brought his hand up to knock. He took one deep breath in, and then let it out, and then felt his knuckles hit the wood.  
  
Once.  
  
Twice.  
  
Thr... hmmm....... oh, what the hell -- three times.  
  
She answered the door fairly quickly, and he just stood there for a moment in the hallway, staring at her.  
  
It's not that she was wearing anything significantly out of the norm - just a pair of jeans and a small black t-shirt - but his sudden loss of brain power was perhaps due more to the reality of him standing there, looking in, while she stood on the other side, looking out.  
  
Finally he managed to regain some motor function, and shut his mouth, which had been hanging open for however long he'd been standing there. Then, suddenly, he remembered something, and his lips parted to show off the smile he had practiced. It caught her off-guard at first, but she soon returned the sentiment.  
  
Her eyes lit up when they caught what was in his hand. "Ooh, is that the Beaujolais?"  
  
He lifted it up as if he'd totally forgotten that he'd brought it in the first place. "It's not bread or coal... but... here it is. I didn't drink much. Maybe a glass."  
  
"Well, let's remedy that, shall we?"  
  
Did she just... wink?  
  
He blinked a few times and then followed her into the apartment.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
While he took in the décor, she pulled the bottle from his grasp and headed to the kitchen for some glasses. As she poured, she watched him spin around, trying to expand his dossier on her from what he saw.  
  
"Hey, go ahead and switch on the TV. I think the remote's on the sofa..." she called out, eyeing the glasses in front of her to make sure the levels were even.  
  
There was silence from the living room, and she eventually looked up to see Grissom, remote in hand, with a puzzled look on his face.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
He licked his lips, and frowned. "Well... I know I'm a little out of touch... but... uh, this doesn't seem to be working."  
  
She furrowed her brow and sauntered into the living room, shooting an irritated glance at the static on the TV.  
  
"Here, let me see."  
  
Her sudden proximity caught him off-guard, and he took the glass she was holding out, giving her the remote in exchange.  
  
Pressing the usual assortment of buttons yielded no result. Sara bit her lip, and then walked over to the TV, feeling around the back.  
  
"Well, it's plugged in..."  
  
Following the cables up to the assortment of components on her shelves, she checked each connection, each time calling out, "How about now?" His answer was always the same - no change.  
  
Finally, she stood back, hands on hips, and stared at the TV. She narrowed her eyes, and huffed a bit. Still nothing.  
  
He chuckled. "Maybe your cable is just... out...?"  
  
Her head twirled around so fast he thought it was going to snap off. He immediately held up his hands in a submissive gesture. "Sorry."  
  
After another wave of anger, it suddenly passed, and she shrugged.  
  
"Well, shit." She took a deep breath, and sipped out of her glass. "At least the wine is fabulous. Wow."  
  
She looked over to Grissom, who was once again glancing around the room, gathering more data. Her entire mood had suddenly shifted, and something about him staring at her things made her smile. She had gotten him over here, and now the TV no longer existed as a buffer... and she couldn't have wanted it any other way.  
  
He was suddenly the only thing in the entire room that interested her at all.  
  
"See anything you like?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
He gave her a small, awkward smile, and pretended to look around again. He eventually nodded and mumbled an affirmative, gulping down a fairly large sip of wine.  
  
"Mmmm... your bookshelves." He sat down on the sofa as close to an armrest as possible.  
  
She smirked and shook her head, and then planted herself as close to him as she could.  
  
He cleared his throat and swallowed. Foiled again.  
  
"So, Grissom..." she trailed off, turning herself toward him. She felt him jerk slightly as her thigh brushed his.  
  
He turned his head toward her, keeping the wine glass in front of him -- a weak attempt at a barrier. It was some kind of pathetic automated response, and he desperately wanted it to stop self-activating at moments like this.  
  
His breath caught for a moment as his eyes glanced over hers, a mere foot away, and for that one second he allowed himself to take in the situation for what it was: just the two of them, relaxing with wine, sitting on a sofa.  
  
She smelled amazing, like she'd just showered, and her hair was particularly flattering tonight as it fell loosely around her face. Casual suited her. It was comfortable. He liked that.  
  
Eventually, she tried to hide another smile, and looked away, attempting not to laugh. He cleared his throat again, hoping he hadn't stared too long.  
  
"What?" he asked quietly.  
  
She shook her head and took another sip. "If I ask you again, will you answer this time? Or just stare some more?"  
  
He coughed suddenly. "What?"  
  
Her eyes bravely stared his down, and watched with intoxicating curiosity as a blush rushed up from his neck, quickly moving to his cheeks. Finally, he looked away, drowning his embarrassment in another sip of wine.  
  
She backed off slightly, and sat back against the couch. "I asked you if you knew any card tricks."  
  
His shoulders relaxed, and she saw him smile. "Oh. Uh... not too many. I mostly just know how to play games."  
  
She bit her lip, and chose to silently enjoy the irony.  
  
He felt her rise from the cushions, and watched her travel back to the kitchen. She pulled something out of a drawer and then grabbed the bottle of wine on her way back. She sat down next to him again and held out a deck of cards.  
  
"Show me."  
  
He gulped down some more wine and then took the deck, quickly falling into what seemed like an old habit for him; shuffling, cutting the deck, making a bridge and then shuffling, and finally setting the cards down onto her coffee table.  
  
"What game?"  
  
"Umm... well, Warrick said something to me about you knowing Poker really well."  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her, and she returned the gesture.  
  
"Poker it is..." He fidgeted with the deck again. "Well, there are literally a hundred variations on poker... Five Card Draw, Seven Card Stud, Texas Hold 'Em..."  
  
"Strip..." she interjected. He shot her a look and she shrugged. "Okay... well, I sort of know about the first two... but, Texas Hold 'Em, that sounds interesting."  
  
He winced, but then re-considered. "Well, that one's slightly more complicated, but you're smart enough."  
  
She smiled, and he hid his own, dipping his head to re-shuffle the deck.  
  
"Did you know in Spain they eat twelve grapes at the stroke of midnight on New Years'?"  
  
He paused, and then continued shuffling. "I... I didn't know that, actually."  
  
"In France they eat pancakes for breakfast."  
  
Grissom stopped briefly, and gave her another questioning glance.  
  
"Yeah, I don't get that one, either. It was just the last thing I remember reading before the cable I pay $50 a month for stopped working the one night I have a guest over."  
  
He smirked and watched as she sat up on the couch, essentially mimicking his position; elbows on knees, leaning slightly over the table.  
  
She suddenly realized how close they were, but didn't know if it would be more or less awkward if she suddenly scooted farther away, so she just stayed where she was.  
  
"Umm..." he started, his voice slightly shaky. "Well, you know the basic rules of Poker, right? Wanting to make a hand out of either the same suit, same number, numerical order, or a combination of two of those...?"  
  
She nodded, and rested her cheek in her hand, watching him deal out some cards.  
  
"The rules are sort of different depending on where you play, but usually everyone gets two cards, called your pocket cards." He dealt her two and himself two. She ended up with the Queen of diamonds and the seven of clubs. He had the King of hearts and the Ace of diamonds.  
  
She liked the way he handled the cards, always re-aligning them, straightening the pile, smoothing down the edges so everything lined up just right. His voice broke her train of thought.  
  
"Okay, so at this point, we'd make our first round of bets."  
  
"With only two cards?"  
  
"Well, we get community cards in this game, cards everyone can share. Those go face up in the middle of the table, but we have to bet first."  
  
"Oh..." She sat up again, and caught his eye. He seemed to be waiting for something. Or he was just staring... again. "I'm listening," she finally said, quietly. He looked back to the table.  
  
"So presuming we've made our bets, I'll put down three cards in the center. That's called the Flop." Three cards went face up: the Queen of hearts, the six of clubs, and the Ace of spades. "Ah, see, you can use the Queen to make two of a kind, and the six might add to a future straight after I deal the other community cards. I can use the Ace to make a pair."  
  
She nodded, slowly. "I get where this is going, I think... so, we bet again, then?"  
  
He smiled. "Yep, and then I deal another one, the Turn card." It was the Queen of Spades. "Looks like someone has a three of a kind." He nudged her with his elbow, and he caught her eyes again.  
  
This time it was she who broke the stare, sipping from her glass to clear the air. "Now what?"  
  
"Well, we bet one more time, and then I deal the River card." It was the Ace of Hearts. He grinned, and her smile fell.  
  
"I lost."  
  
"Well, not necessarily. I don't know that you have three Queens. You could still beat me with a straight flush or a full house. It all comes down to the risk you're willing to take with betting, and how well you hide what you've got."  
  
She licked her lips and took another sip. "I'm beginning to understand why you'd be good at this game."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing." A small smile crept across her mouth. "Go ahead and deal again. I hope you brought cash."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The wine bottle was nearly empty.  
  
Perhaps a centimeter of liquid sloshed around the bottom, and Sara blinked back the alcohol to concentrate.  
  
She readjusted her legs on the floor, and looked at her cards again. Oh, she was so going to kick his ass on this one, she knew it. Two Kings and two Queens. And he had yet to deal the river card. She deserved to win after losing to him seven times in a row. And with the amount in the ante, she would win back all she had lost. Squinting her eyes, she looked across the table, watching him re-fan his cards in his hand.  
  
She threw in three nickels. "Raise you fifteen."  
  
He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Hmmm... Sara Sidle thinks she's beaten me on this one."  
  
"Sara Sidle *knows*..."  
  
Shaking his head, he conceded and threw in fifteen cents to the pot of nearly a dollar. "You need to work on that poker face."  
  
"Yeah, I guess I have trouble hiding my feelings." Oh, dear God, please tell me that wasn't said that out loud.  
  
She looked positively mortified at first, managing to cover up her wine- induced loose lips with a light laugh. He was just staring at her. She hoped it was because he was slightly drunk.  
  
Eventually, she cleared her throat, and the moment passed.  
  
He turned a card over from the undealt pile: Queen of hearts. Sara nearly squealed, but managed to stifle her excitement. She even pouted a little for show.  
  
"It's the showdown, Sara. Let's see what you've got." Before she started to move he quickly added, "Unless you're going to fold..."  
  
Daggers flew at him and he grinned. Did he just wink?  
  
"You first, Grissom."  
  
He proudly laid down his cards. With the River card and one in the flop he had a flush: three, five, nine, and Queen, all hearts.  
  
Sara looked worried for a moment, and then realized it wasn't a straight flush. She couldn't hold back the smile any longer and slapped her cards down on the table. Grissom's jaw fell open.  
  
"A full house," he observed, incredulous. "A full house."  
  
"Yep!" She reached for pot. "And I believe this is alllllll mine."  
  
Grissom's hand on her wrist startled her, and she looked up, caught off- guard by the strange expression in his eyes.  
  
"What about a tip for the dealer?" His voice was low and gravelly, almost like it wasn't even his.  
  
This sudden change stunned her for a moment, and then she rose onto her knees, his hand still gripping her wrist. She scooped up the coins with her free hand and smiled with her eyes.  
  
"Here's a tip, Grissom..." Leaning over the table, she brought her face close to his. He moved back slightly. "Remember: it's just a game."  
  
Her breath was warm on his face, and he quickly fell under the hypnotizing spell of her eyes, lost somewhere in the brown of her irises. It startled him when she suddenly left his frame of view.  
  
He blinked, sat back, and watched her walk into the kitchen.  
  
Some glass jars clinked together as the door to her refrigerator swung open. Grissom's eyes wandered to the clock on the VCR: 11:30. Wow; he'd been here for almost two hours. Maybe she wanted him to leave.  
  
"I'm hungry. How does pizza sound to you?" she called out.  
  
Maybe not.  
  
"Pizza sounds great. Did you know they eat twelve slices of pizza in Italy to ring in the New Year?"  
  
Her head popped up over the center island. She furrowed her brow. "No they don't."  
  
He shrugged. "Yeah, I know, but I felt left out."  
  
He heard a snicker followed by the harsh grating of the pizza pan as it slid against metal, and then the solid thud of the oven door closing.  
  
She emerged back in the living room a few moments later. "You know any other new year's traditions?"  
  
"Only bogus ones," he replied, smiling.  
  
The cushions shifted slightly as she again planted herself close to where he was, sitting up on one leg to face him. It might have been the wine slowing her down, but she watched with rapt attention as he fidgeted in his position, his hands moving over his legs, his fingers bending and then straightening.  
  
11:35  
  
Still watching him, she recalled another graphic. "In Puerto Rico on New Year's, people throw water out their windows to cleanse their houses of evil spirits."  
  
The fidgeting continued. She inched slightly closer.  
  
"In Italy, people sometimes give each other oranges."  
  
He tried to relax his shoulders, and offered the hint of a grin. "What about wine?"  
  
"I'll allow it." She dipped her head down and looked up at him. She knew every time she spoke it was pretty clear the wine was making her brain quite fuzzy. Hopefully he was too caught up in trying to not appear half- drunk that he wouldn't notice.  
  
11:40  
  
For some reason, her mouth just kept talking. "In Germany, they call December 31st Saint Sylvester's Eve. People hang out and drink with their friends."  
  
That at least got him to smile a little. "Well, at least we're doing something sort of traditional."  
  
She nodded, and moved another inch.  
  
11:43  
  
He licked his lips and tried to steady his breathing. It was tough when she was sitting so close he could practically feel the heat from her body through his layers of clothes. His jaw clenched, and then relaxed, and then clenched again. His fingers were so tense he had trouble flexing them against the palms of his hands. He licked his lips, and then finally looked over to her.  
  
"I do know one tradition," he practically whispered, still trying to compose himself. Her stare was unnerving.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"The United States has very few, actually, besides the consumption of alcohol."  
  
11:48  
  
"Fireworks?"  
  
He smirked and nodded. "That's one. And don't forget 'Auld Lang Syne,' -- 'And Days of Long Ago' -- that song no one knows the lyrics to...."  
  
Sara pursed her lips, trying to hold back the smile. "Something about ... old acquaintances and... remembering stuff..."  
  
Now he was trying to hold back his smile. He didn't know why; it only made it harder.  
  
"Yes. Drinking... singing... and then there's the one people forget the most..."  
  
She cocked her head. "What's that?"  
  
Deep breath in. Let it out. Do it once more. Come on. "The new year's kiss."  
  
11:53  
  
How could she stay so calm? "Do people really forget that one? A lot of people kiss on Dick Clark's show."  
  
Was she moving even closer? Or was he? It was hard to tell.  
  
11:54  
  
His voice was barely audible now. "Well, sometimes they're so caught up in the drinking and singing, the New Year's kiss just becomes part of the landscape. It's sort of lost its own place on the list of concrete traditions."  
  
"Combination debauchery, Grissom. It's the American way."  
  
He tried not to stare at her smiling mouth.  
  
11:56  
  
Her lips just kept moving. "But I don't think the kiss is forgotten, really, maybe a little overshadowed by the alcohol and parties, but that's only because this society places such emphasis on what 'proper' social behavior is that we've all come to believe New Year's Eve is about the 'right' champagne and that stupid song and - "  
  
Part of him wanted to hear what she had to say, but it wasn't enough to outweigh the part that really, really wanted to taste her mouth, to press his lips against hers, to finally do what he had been waiting to do for the last two years.  
  
So he did.  
  
If her brain had been fuzzy for the past several hours, it was now screaming with an intensity she couldn't quite process through the pre- existing fuzz. Grissom's lips were softer than she expected, enticing her to join him as they lightly danced over her own. One of his hands was poised right below her ear, his fingers brushing gently across her skin. The other one tentatively pressed against her waist, perhaps as an attempt to keep his own body from losing balance.  
  
Once her brain had made the split-second decision to kiss him back, her hands found similar spots on his body: one around his neck, one at the top of his pants.  
  
As he grew more confident that what he had done hadn't been the end of civilization on the planet, he leaned into her while pulling her against him. What had started out as a fairly chaste endeavor suddenly slipped into more dangerous territory. The longer they continued, the more often he felt the tips of their tongues clash amidst the moisture of their mouths.  
  
Her quiet moans vibrated against him and he inhaled deeply, desperate to keep their lips joined for as long as possible. The hand on her waist crept around to her back, and he involuntarily gripped the material of her shirt, clinging to it as if he were afraid she would slip from his hands at any second and run away.  
  
Instead, when their mouths eventually slowed and they pulled back, her lips gently releasing his bottom one from their grasp, she ran her hand along his cheek and cupped it in her palm. When he finally opened his eyes, he knew she wasn't going anywhere.  
  
They both smirked and laughed lightly, and she ran a hand through his hair, keeping him close.  
  
"Wow..." she chuckled. "Well, I don't think I'll forget that kiss any time soon... how long have you been wanting to do that - since I whooped your ass in Poker?"  
  
"Before that." He licked his lips, the heat of embarrassment spreading across his neck and cheeks like a scorching fever. "Since I walked in the door, at least..."  
  
12:11  
  
She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled at him. He returned it without even thinking, not sure if it was the one he had practiced, but not really caring. Leaning forward, his pressed his lips to hers and held them there, gently.  
  
Grissom pulled away, briefly, and then brought his mouth to hers again. He released her lips, and then recaptured them, repeating the strange cycle, breaking contact only to catch his breath once in a while.  
  
She smirked against his mouth, her mind caught somewhere between the buzzing excitement of their heated embrace and the faint awareness of her surroundings, the reality encompassing their strange new world.  
  
She spoke between kisses. "Grissom..."  
  
He acknowledged her with a grunt.  
  
Her arms rewrapped around his neck, and she finally gave in, the ecstatic buzz overpowering the far less exciting awareness of reality.  
  
"I hope you like burnt pizza..."  
  
  
  
(fin.) 


End file.
